


The Talking Thing

by Variastrix



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky has nightmares, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Tony helps with that, squint for shipping, the rest of the avengers for a paragraph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 21:03:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2203056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Variastrix/pseuds/Variastrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 3AM plot bunny.</p><p>Bucky has joined the Avengers in the Tower and grows on Tony like a fungus, minus his hair which annoys everyone. They help each other with their respective issues. One night, Bucky comes into the workshop with a problem Tony helps with.</p><p>Un-betaed fluff</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Talking Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Written at 3AM trying to get through writer's block, proceed with caution. Un-betaed and kind of silly. Tony rambles a lot.

Tony honestly couldn’t remember when it started. One day Cap had come tiptoeing into the Tower with a silent, broken cyborg of a BFF trailing after him like Tony wouldn’t notice yet another potentially dangerous assassin under his roof as long as Rogers didn’t acknowledge it. As with all things between Tony and Steve, there had been a bit of a spat. Tony had admonished the good captain for insulting his hospitality by suggesting _“Bucky”_ could sleep on his couch. The couch! They weren’t living a frat house, despite what Clint would say, and Tony had made this perfectly clear. So the open bedroom down the hall from Cap’s had become home to the slumped figure of one James Barnes, and Tony had resigned himself to seeing hollowed doe eyes behind a curtain of limp hair every morning over his waffles.

That had been three, maybe four months ago now, and at some point during those months Barnes (and Tony _refused_ to call the man “Bucky”) had taken to hanging around Tony whenever Cap wasn’t around. The supersoldier had self-assigned missions and still took his morning runs with Sam (who had also moved in at some point because you take one in and apparently the whole set comes with) and for obvious reasons Mr. Shiny Deadly Prosthetic couldn’t join him. Tony had accepted the silent, morose company with no comment, he’d want to hang around him too if all he got was Captain Spangles McNoFun the rest of the time. He could be generous and considerate if he pleased. So if the guy wanted to sit and mope on his workshop couch instead of the penthouse couch while Tony welded the day away, that was just fine and dandy. 

Tony also didn’t remember when the talking started. He had figured it would be more of a big deal when Silent and Deadly broke his vows and started a conversation with someone beyond his monosyllabic dealings with their fearless spangled leader. Turns out, Barnes didn’t mind Tony’s constant prattling conversation while he talked to himself during his projects to fill the silence (he had let up with the screaming guitars because the playlist got old, ok? not out of consideration to serumed-up traumatized ears nope not at all). In fact, Barnes had started talking back at some nebulous point in their arrangement with absolutely no accompanying fanfare. Tony had started answering gruff-voiced questions with his own snappy comebacks and some verbal poking and prodding until their hangouts had become some sort of strange, thinly veiled feelings jam. 

Barnes wouldn’t pour his soul out by any means, but Tony wouldn’t be a genius if he couldn’t work some answers out of the few drops that Barnes would give him. He liked to think he was being helpful, in some small way, by listening and poking at the bear that was Barnes’ issues with a proverbial stick. And Barnes deserved help. If Tony Stark of all people was able to get a second chance, then a World War II hero doted on by Captain America certainly deserved someone to talk to at the very least.

So the talking was a thing. A nice thing. One that Tony was becoming so accustomed to he was wishing Rogers out of the house even more often than he was before. Barnes hadn’t judged Tony on sight, didn’t fault him for his past (what little of it he knew, through Steve), and easing the haunted look in Barnes’ eyes gave Tony a bit of hope that his own demons could be conquered too. Plus, the man had a wicked sense of humor, a quick wit, and it didn’t hurt that he was stupidly attractive when he swept that hair out of his face. Tony had witnessed a few tense moments whenever Rogers would suggest his friend cut said tangled mass to a ‘respectable’ length. He chalked it up to Barnes’ still fragile psyche that the man dug his heels in so deep to keep it long, even though he was constantly tucking it behind his ears. More than once Tony had had to resist the urge to tuck a few wayward strands back himself, and he had thought about running his hands through those tangles quite a few times. It couldn’t be comfortable carting that bird’s nest around.

Tony just so happened to be pondering this during one of his so-late-it’s-early workshop sessions when the subject himself stalked through the glass door. Barnes threw himself on the couch with a thud and from the way he leaned to put his head in his hands Tony knew immediately.

“Nightmares?” the engineer quipped, not pausing in his perusal of some of the suit’s coding. A nod, Barnes’ hands clenched a little where his fingers pressed into his temples and hairline. “Headache?” From experience, Tony knew the nightmares usually involved Hydra and the equipment they used on Barnes. The headaches they caused ramped up the stress, which made the headaches worse in a feedback loop Tony had so far been powerless in stopping. He usually just sat with the suffering man until he could drift off to sleep again.

Tony stepped away from the display, saving and closing the file with a flick of his wrist. His feet were quiet on the tile floor as he crossed to the couch, gesturing to Jarvis to dim the lighting. He settled next to his friend, eyes alighting on the rat’s nest that was Barnes’ hair, made all the worse by tossing and turning in bed. Tony smiled a bit faintly and spoke softly, tugging a little at a tense shoulder. He had an idea.

“Barnes.” Nothing. No response. “Barnes, hey…. James.” That did it. The bowed body straightened a little and Tony knew he had his attention. “James, just lie back alright? Against me, like this.” It took some maneuvering, but eventually Tony was cross-legged with his back to the arm of the sofa with a deadly sniper leaning back a bit against his chest. The rest of Barnes was stretched across the cushions in a tense line, and he jumped as soon as Tony’s hand made contact with his hair. Tony shushed him, burying his calloused hands into dark brown strands. He slowly, gently began to comb through the knots at James’ scalp, untangling them what felt like a strand at a time to avoid any yanking. The only sound in the room was their slowed breathing, James keeping in time with Tony as he slowly allowed himself to sink back into the cushions. Tony was halfway through with the combing when James hummed a questioning note into the silence. Tony shushed him again.

“Just thought it would help. It’s a mess back here Barnes,” a grumble “…James.  Did you fall asleep with it wet or something?” He’d take that hum as a yes.

When every knot was combed out, Tony dragged his fingers through the surprisingly silky strands. His fingernails just barely trailed across James’ scalp in a massage that relieved all but the most stubborn furrow in the sniper’s brow. Dragged into a drowsy stupor himself, Tony idly began separating bits of James’ hair into sections, tugging just tight enough to keep the strands together as he started to weave a braid just above the man’s left temple. Curious hums were shushed until James just gave in to the repetitive tugging sensations, letting them chase away the last of the headache between his eyes. The trust Tony saw in that definitely wasn’t touching, not at all.

One braid done, Tony left it to hang against James’ neck and started on a matching one at the other temple. Just like with his projects, he found working with his hands to be cathartic, something in his soul soothed just by twisting the lengths of hair and keeping to the pattern. By the time he reached the end of the right braid and began weaving the two together, James was snoring quietly and Tony could feel his own eyes drooping. A quick glance around found a rubber band on the table next to the couch, a swift twist saw the braids fastened, and a lazy flick switched the lights off.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony half-woke with a hand carding through his hair. He didn’t open his eyes, after nearly fifty hours of deprivation his body was holding tight to sleep while he could get it. His ears were only at half function, picking up shreds of conversation.

“…wrong about…”

“…helps… never seems to…”

“…apologize……get some sleep…”

“…not just…too…”

It was quiet again, and Tony was just sinking back out of awareness when something soft pressed to his forehead. Just a quick brush before it disappeared and he was dead to the world again.

 

“Thank you, Tony.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Nice hair, Barnes.” Nat sipped her morning tea and smirked behind the cup as Bucky exited the elevator from the workshop just behind Steve. Bucky didn’t smile, not quite, but he looked pleased as he grabbed a couple of glasses from the cupboard and headed to the fridge for orange juice.

“Least it’ll keep the hair out of your face. Was driving me nuts.” Clint pointed an accusatory finger in the sniper’s face before returning to noisily munching on his toast. Bruce smiled and shook his head from behind his newspaper (an honest to god paper newspaper, wouldn’t Tony be surprised). Steve accepted his orange juice and took a seat at the table, marveling a little at the nearly completely relaxed Bucky in a social setting. Just a couple months ago the man was a solid nerve at the dining table, staring out from behind clinging bangs. What a difference a hairstyle could make. Steve smiled into his glass and thought about the genius currently drooling on the couch downstairs. What a difference.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If I come back to this later having slept I may tweak it. I might expand it. Know that if I do expand it, it will probably end up Steve/Bucky/Tony because reasons. Feedback is much appreciated!


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